You're Universe

Hermione woke up remembering a beautiful, strange, passionate dream. Sunbeams slid across the sheets, and fragments of memories pulsed in her head – hot touches, loud moans. Everything seemed so unreal. And why did things feel this good only in dreams? "Just a dream," she whispered, throwing off the blanket. Goosebumps rose on her skin from the morning chill. She stood up, completely naked, and headed to the bathroom, trying not to think about how her body still remembered every touch. She imagined Draco's scent in every corner. Apparently, her skin had soaked it in from his jacket. Lost in these sensations, she walked into the bathroom and froze. The sound of running water and billowing steam. The shower curtain slid aside. "Good morning," Draco said, his wet hair falling onto his forehead, lips stretched in a satisfied smirk. Hermione froze, her legs almost buckling. But how? This wasn't a dream, not an illusion. Draco Malfoy in her bathroom. Had they spent the whole night together? He looked her up and down appraisingly, then extended his hand: "Join me!"

***

The scent of freshly brewed coffee, cinnamon, and croissants hung in the air of the small kitchen with its large window. Morning sunlight flooded the room with golden light. Hermione sat at the table, wrapped in a robe. She watched with pleasure as Draco – dressed only in black boxers – efficiently set out the cutlery. His movements were surprisingly natural in this simple act, as if he always had breakfast in her kitchen. "What?" he turned, catching her gaze. "I thought you were a dream," Hermione said, looking away. Draco smirked, cradling his cup with his fingers: "So, you liked that 'dream'?" She shrugged but couldn't hide her smile. "Why didn't you leave?" He set down his cup, pulling her close by the hand: "I can't. Not now." They kissed again and again. It never felt like enough, but deep down, she knew – a moment would come when he would have to leave. "What are your plans for today?" he asked, gently nibbling the skin behind her ear. "I'm on vacation. Haven't had a break in ages, and now the timing worked out perfectly. Want to take some time off together?" She froze for a moment, looking into his eyes again. "I don't have to go to work either," she answered shyly, handing him a rolled-up parchment. "These are my plans for the next few days." "What's this?" He took the sheet, unfolded the yellowish paper, and began reading aloud: 1. Visit the Hogwarts library 2. See the Northern Lights in Norway 3. Reconcile with Draco Malfoy 4. Visit Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop 5. Waltz to live music played by enchanted violins 6. Spend one evening without books or plans 7. Donate her Muggle books to the children's hospital 8. Ride a gondola in Venice 9. See the Giant Squid in the Hogwarts lake 10. In case I remember something important Silence hung between them. Draco slowly raised his eyes, catching her embarrassed gaze. "So that's why you invited me to dinner yesterday," he said, running his finger over the third item. Hermione lowered her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched: "Not only because of that." He set the list aside. "The other items look much more interesting," his lips touched her ear again, this time warmer, lingering. "Especially the waltz. Where shall we start?" His words took her breath away. She couldn't believe it. "You really want to do these with me?" "Of course!" He swiftly swept her into his arms, spinning her around the kitchen. "I really do." "Where do you want to start?" he asked, pointing at the list. "And where would *you* start?" Hermione tilted her head; she was genuinely curious about his answer. Draco reread the list. Venice, the Northern Lights, the waltz... His fingers tightened on the edge of the parchment. "Let's start with the children's hospital," he said firmly. She nodded. "Today?" "Today," he extended his hand, and she took it without hesitation. They headed to donate her books to the children's ward of the hospital. Hermione crouched down beside a girl tethered to an IV drip. In her hands was a worn copy of The Little Prince. "See this lamb?" her finger touched the illustration. "He lives in a box. The most well-behaved lamb in the world." The girl reached for the picture, and Hermione gently put an arm around her shoulders, as if afraid she might shatter. At the other end of the ward, a boy of about eight poked a finger at Winnie-the-Pooh. "Why doesn't the donkey have a tail?" he rasped. "Because," she adjusted his pillow, "sometimes we lose important things. But friends always help us find them." Draco pulled her aside, hiding in an alcove of the hospital corridor. He pressed her against the wall. His lips burned her temple, and his whisper scorched her soul: "I want children with you." She smiled. But said nothing.

***

Norway greeted them with a sharp sea wind, even though the calendar still said late August. Hermione huddled in a woolen scarf, watching the stars in the dark sky. "Are you sure you want to wait?" Draco draped his cloak over her shoulders. "Even in August, it's barely five degrees Celsius here at night." "Sure," she reached for the thermos of hot glögg; the sweet steam burned her lips. And then the sky caught fire. First, timid green streaks, then – a sudden explosion of colour. Emerald waves mingled with violet flashes, reflecting in the black water of the fjord. She stood, head thrown back, feeling Draco embrace her from behind, warming her cold hands. "It's..." she gasped as the sky flared brighter. "Look," Draco whispered. She turned – and saw the violins. Three enchanted instruments hovered in the air, drawing melody from their strings by themselves. Gentle as the northern wind, and warm as an embrace. "You did this!" Her voice trembled. "Your fifth item," he smiled. "A waltz to live music played by enchanted violins." Hermione didn't ask how he'd arranged it. She just threw herself at him, hugging him so tightly he momentarily lost his balance. "Thank you," she whispered, burying her face in his chest. They spun beneath the shimmering sky. The violins played on their own, without violinists, and the Northern Lights illuminated their dance. Her cold fingers warmed in his hands, and not a single anxious thought remained in her head – only the music, only this moment, only him. She smiled, resting her forehead against his shoulder. None of her usual thoughts about tomorrow filled her head, only one thing: I want this to last forever.

***

And the next day, Venice awaited them. They wandered narrow streets all day, crossing bridges over canals. Crowds of tourists, shouts of gondoliers, the smell of fresh pastries from cafes – everything blended into a colourful kaleidoscope. Hermione gripped the railing of the vaporetto as the boat cut through the lagoon waters. The wind played with her tousled curls, and the sunlight reflected in her wide, delighted eyes. She smiled – sincerely, childishly. "Look!" She pointed a finger at the passing palazzos, deliberately animated. "Venetian Gothic!" She caught his glances: when sunlight reflected mosaics on her face, when she froze listening to street musicians. But she didn't see the shadow that crossed her face when he looked away. "Let's see the cemetery island," she suggested unexpectedly, grabbing Draco's sleeve. He frowned: "San Michele?" he asked. "What? It has amazing Gothic architecture," she was already pulling him towards the landing stage. Among cypress trees and marble angels, Hermione walked slowly, running her palm over carved headstones. "It's strange," she whispered, stopping at a stranger's grave. "All these people... They had plans too, didn't they?" The exploration lasted until evening. She enthusiastically examined the tombstones, and he patiently followed her, hiding a smile when she stumbled over old slabs. Draco silently took her hand. Her fingers were icy, even though the day was sweltering. They met the night in a hotel room overlooking a canal. The sound of water outside the window, cool sheets, and her laughter when he couldn't open the bottle of Prosecco without magic – that's what she remembered most. Lying in bed, he held her, feeling her relax as she pressed against him – as if trying to hold onto this moment. He pressed her palm to his lips. Venice glittered outside the window, but the most important thing was happening right here – in the quiet flutter of her heart.

***

There was also an amazing evening, encompassing a whole day without plans. The lounger beneath Hermione gave slightly, moulding to her body, while the warm Mediterranean breeze played with her tousled strands of hair. Waves of the Mediterranean Sea lazily lapped the shore, leaving lacy traces of foam. She lay watching the last rays of the sun dissolve into the turquoise waters. "How strange," she whispered, "to sit on the beach without a book." Her eyes followed the distant horizon, where the sky was slowly turning from blue to fiery. Draco sprawled beside her, his pale skin already acquiring a light golden tint. He watched as the sunset painted her face in warm tones, highlighting the freckles on her nose. "Exactly as you wanted," he reminded her, his fingers brushing her wrist. "No books. No magic. No plans." She closed her eyes, breathing in the mix of sea air and the scent of his skin. For the first time in a long while, her mind wasn't churning with dozens of thoughts simultaneously. Only the whisper of waves, the warmth of his fingers on her skin, and the crimson glow behind her eyelids. "Tomorrow to Scotland? Hogwarts?" she raised an eyebrow. "Shh!" Draco covered her mouth with his palm, but a smirk lit his eyes. "No plans, Granger. Didn't you want this yourself?"